


Peanut Butter Palm

by jellyfishsenpai



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, The Adventures of Food Boy
Genre: Crossover, M/M, WTF, this is longer than i ever hoped it would be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 14:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishsenpai/pseuds/jellyfishsenpai
Summary: In Amestris, Edward Elric learns of a violation of the laws of Alchemy in another country. Colonel Roy Mustang has determined only Ed can investigate. He's sent to a foreign school where he meets Ezra Chase, who possesses a strange power he's trying to keep hidden. What happens when a high school boy gifted with the ability to conjure food at will is confronted by a military dog who seeks the power of God?





	Peanut Butter Palm

**Author's Note:**

> AN: My work speaks for itself.

Ed wasn’t really sure why he stood in front of a school in a foreign country, surrounded by teenagers dressed in fashions he didn’t understand. His brows had been furrowed since he left Central under Mustang’s orders, and he could still see the smirk on the colonel’s face.

When Mustang had called Ed into his office a month earlier, the tension in the man’s shoulders made the room feel cramped. He glanced up at Ed as he shut the door and laid the file flat on his desk, intertwining his fingers atop it.

“We’ve received reports of a rather… serious offense,” Mustang said. “From the information we’ve received, it seems something unusual is playing a part. And I’m sure the case will interest you.”

After he indicated for Ed to take a seat, the boy obliged, resting his right elbow on the arm rest. “What’s the situation?”

Mustang’s eyes flickered back to the file, and he lifted the front cover with a single gloved finger, scanning the documents even though he had spent hours pouring over the contents already. “This is somewhat outside our range of influence,” he said, “and I don’t want to disclose too much information here, but it seems someone has found a way to disregard the law of equivalent exchange. And that could mean—”

“They have a philosopher’s stone.”

Upon lifting his gaze, Mustang saw the unmistakable fire in Ed’s eyes. He took a moment to observe the boy, noting the slight tremor in his left hand and the tightness of his clenched jaw.

Mustang released his breath and nodded, letting the file close once more. “I’ve considered the possibility, and that’s why I thought you’d be fit for the investigation,” he said.

Rising, Ed curled his fingers into fists. “Alright,” he said, turning toward the door. His cloak swept out behind him, a red wave in the stagnant air. “I’ll go get Al and—”

“Unfortunately, Fullmetal,” Mustang said, striding around his desk to place a firm hand on Ed’s shoulder, “your younger brother will not be joining you.”

“Why not?” Ed struggled to keep his voice level, but the resignation in Mustang’s voice unnerved and frustrated him.

With a sigh, Mustang rested his palm against his hips. “We can’t endanger a civilian in a foreign country where we have no jurisdiction,” he said. “And your brother would… stand out quite a bit. This is a diplomatic investigative expedition, Fullmetal. You’ll be acting as an undercover ambassador. We can’t take unnecessary risks.”

“If Al can’t come with me, I shouldn’t go,” Ed said, refusing to meet Mustang’s narrowed eyes. This decision came without warning, without consideration, and Ed almost regretted his inability to hold his tongue.

“That’s a shame,” Mustang said. Ed was surprised to find the man’s tone had sombered. “I discussed this with the Lieutenant, and we determined you are the only one suited for this mission.”

At this, Ed couldn’t deny his curiosity. He raised his chin and peered at Mustang out of the corner of his eye. “And why is that, Colonel?”

A month later, Ed finally learned firsthand why he alone, out of all the State Alchemists, could fulfill this assignment.

He let his satchel fall to the ground.

Before him rose the bland yet intimidating brown walls of a high school. Strung to a thin gleaming pole was a piece of cloth unlike any Ed had ever seen, one he assumed was a symbol of nationalism. Around Ed, students milled about, engaging in meaningless chatter about “the game” and “elections”—things Ed didn’t fully understand.

The reason he had been chosen, of course, was his age and, perhaps more importantly, his stature.

Steeling himself and subduing the fury within, he bent and retrieved his bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder. A few students had unabashedly slid sneers in his direction, but Ed gritted his teeth. To lose his composure this early in the mission would, admittedly be characteristic of him, _but_ it wasn’t something he could afford to do. Risking Mustang’s unending mockery was not a fate Ed wanted to see realized.

Mustang had provided all the papers. The woman at the front office peered over her horn-rimmed glasses and puckered her lips. “And where’s your guardian, young man? They’re supposed to see you to the school on your first day,” she said.

Ed put on his best smile. “My… _guardian_ should have called to inform the school of his absence today. I have all the necessary documents, and there shouldn’t be any other issues.”

The woman squinted, and her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. After clicking her pen, she slid an ID card onto the counter. “Welcome to high school, Edward. Don’t be late to first period.”

After offering a stiff “Thanks” to the woman, Ed escaped the office and found recluse in a bathroom. He didn’t waste time admiring the facilities. From his satchel, he pulled the file, and he opened to the page identifying the prime target.

“He sure doesn’t look threatening,” Ed murmured. The boy seemed as if he spent his time studying in the library, not violating the laws of the universe. But he made note of the name and face, determined to keep an eye on the boy should anything go awry.

Ed drew his pocket watch from his pants. He’d learned that, in this country, punctuality was not optional. Being minutes late could result in ridicule and punishment. He shoved the watch back into his pocket and exited the bathroom, his cloak billowing behind him.

When he approached the classroom, the door still stood open, and inside, Ed could see students settling into seats with conviction. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his satchel. For a brief moment, he felt a fleeting fear that his body would expose him, but when his eyes flickered to his right hand, relief washed over him. The glove was still in place, the long sleeve concealing.

Without any more hesitation, Ed entered the room and met the eyes of a rugged, sour-faced man. The man flipped the open book he’d been reading upside-down and rose to meet Ed. A sudden mild aura of egotism prodded Ed, but he maintained his composure. Instead, he smiled and extended a hand.

“You must be Edward Elric,” the man said. The way he said Ed’s name felt awkward, but Ed pretended not to care. He gripped Ed’s hand and gave it a single firm shake. “I’m Mr. Lund, your English teacher this year. I hope you find this class acceptable as your first period.”

“Of course,” Ed said. The slight raise of Mr. Lund’s eyebrow prompted Ed to say, “Of course, _sir_ ,” through gritted teeth. The English teacher smiled and returned to his desk.

Thumbing at the pages of his book, Mr. Lund said, “You can sit in the back, Edward. The last row is empty, so have your pick.”

Inexplicably, there were no issues in communication despite the language barrier aside from the difference in accents. Ed attributed it to some unseen force, perhaps and unknown technology accessible only in the foreign country.

After mumbling a “Thank you, sir,” Ed meandered to the back of the room. Though he imagined the back of the room wasn’t usually the best place to be, judging by the smug look on the teacher’s face as well as the open smirks and laughter that came from the students around him, Ed found the location perfect. His target was in that class, as well. At the back of the room, he could observe without hesitation.

But the bell rang, and Mr. Lund rose to scribble the words “Silent Reading” on the chalkboard before returning to his desk. Ed scanned the room but found no one who matched the image.

Eyes still flitting between the students, he reached into his bag and retrieved an unassuming book, something Mustang had slipped into his bags just before Ed had left.

“You’ll need this,” he’d said with a wink.

“For what?” Ed asked, inspecting the cover. It didn’t seem particularly exciting or important. “Is it important for the mission?”

Mustang had waved over his shoulder, as he had already begun to walk away. “It’s best if you just save it for when the right time comes. That book’s author was born in the country you’re going to.”

Now that Ed had the book sitting on his desk, he couldn’t quite understand its importance. He understood it was probably a religious text, given the simplicity of its title, but the true intention behind Mustang’s coyness was likely a connection to the target’s name. Ed opened the text to the first page but did not read. Instead, he tapped his fingers against the desk without making noise, waiting for the boy to arrive.

Several minutes passed. Ed had resolved to read a few dozen pages of the text, drawn in by the gossamer thread which tied history to mythology, when the classroom door opened. As if trying to be discreet, the boy shut the door deliberately, turning the knob so the lock wouldn’t click.

“Perhaps, Ezra, you might consider investing in a functional alarm clock one of these days,” Mr. Lund said without looking up. “Or would a rooster be more useful?”

The boy grimaced, closing his eyes for a moment and raising his hands in surrender. “I really am sorry, Mr. Lund.”

“Apologies only mean anything when you try to amend what you’ve done,” Mr. Lund chastised, waggling a finger in the boy’s direction. “And this marks your… twentieth offense? Maybe more?”

Shoulders sagging, Ezra bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lund.”

“Take your seat, Ezra.”

When Ezra moved between the desks to find his own, Ed struggled not to stare. In person, the boy was even less impressive. In a fight, Ed figured he could barely hold his own, let alone ever achieve victory.

Filled with an inexplicable anger he only narrowly managed to contain, Ed clenched his fist and gritted his teeth, pressing down into the desk until it groaned. Ezra looked up as he reached his desk and met Ed’s eyes. When he saw the fury there, he stumbled and hit his knee into the silver rods which supported his desk, both hands falling onto the surface to catch himself. Mr. Lund glanced up but said nothing before returning to his book.

Ed raised his book before his face when he felt other eyes turn to him. His cheeks flushed. If Mustang thought this boy was a threat, that this boy was somehow a threat to alchemy and the laws of the universe, he surely had to be mistaken. At this point, Ed began to believe the only reason Mustang had sent him there was to make a fool of him. After he’d blindly trusted him, too.

The smell of something nutty broke Ed’s concentration. He lowered his book enough so that he could locate the source. In front of him, Ezra had lifted his hands to his nose, and his shoulders seemed tense.

Ed closed the book and leaned forward. He was oblivious to Mr. Lund at the front of the room, who was also oblivious to the class as a whole.

Something gnawed at Ed in that moment. It wasn’t quite fear, nor was it excitement. But it made his heart race and his palms sweat.

As he watched, a smooth brown paste formed from Ezra’s open hands. Ed felt his mouth go dry.

There had been no circle, not even the kind that Ed used from committing the greatest taboo. In exchange for what seemed to be nothing, Ezra created _food_.

Before anyone in the room could react, Ed shoved his chair away from his desk and approached Ezra. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. The clatter of the chair against the tiled floor forced Mr. Lund to pay attention, and his brows furrowed with concern.

“What are you boys doing?”

“I apologize, Mr. Lund, but I forgot I had business with Ezra,” Ed said as he dragged Ezra toward the door. The excuse was half-hearted. He couldn’t craft something better in his state. “We’ll be back shortly. I apologize for the disturbance.”

He shut the door behind them and continued pulling Ezra toward the bathroom.

“Hey,” Ezra said. His panic was obvious, but he seemed too frightened. “Hey, wait, I don’t know— _please_.”

Once Ed had made certain the bathroom was empty, he released Ezra’s wrist. The boy immediately grasped it with his other hand. Without thinking, Ed had used his automail and hadn’t monitored his strength. He thought himself lucky he hadn’t snapped the boy’s bone.

Ezra didn’t retreat to a wall, but his posture cowered. “What do you want?”

“How did you do that?” Ed asked.

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Ed said. He was practically shaking with something beyond anger. “You created something out of nothing, didn’t you? I want to know how you did it.”

Ezra’s face had gone pale, and he hid his hands behind his back. “I don’t know.”

“Answer me.”

The boy’s gaze fell to the floor to his left. He brought his hands before him. “I forgot to eat breakfast, so I… made some peanut butter.” The shrug with which he punctuated his sentence failed to provide him with any credibility.

“You _made_ it.”

“Family recipe,” Ezra said with a laugh.

Ed noticed the quiver of Ezra’s lips, the way he swallowed and darted his eyes. “You didn’t use an alchemy circle,” he said. His tone fell flat, but he struggled to be gentle. This country was different from Amestris. There was no battlefront, no bloody past—as far as Ed could tell. There was just high school.

When Ezra met Ed’s eyes, it was with utter confusion. “Alchemy?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “What are you talking about?”

Ed closed his eyes. The rules were different. Perhaps the science had slipped from the records or grew into specializations, losing its original name. But from what Ed had seen already, alchemy persisted, even if no one acknowledged it.

With his right hand, Ed reached up and gripped his neck, twisting it to elicit a sharp _crack_ . “Well, there’s not much to do if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Ed said. He didn’t miss the immense relief that showed on Ezra’s face. “ _But_ there’s still a lot I want to talk about.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Then, to Ed’s surprise, Ezra smiled. “I’d rather not talk about this at school,” he said, but before Ed could object, he continued. “You’re welcome to come to my house after the last bell. We should be fine there.”

Ed returned the smile with a grin. “I _will_ hold you to that,” he said.

“Of course,” Ezra said. Cheeks flushed, he dipped his head. “But first… what’s your name?”

“Edward Elric,” he answered, “but you can call me Ed.”

Ezra extended his hand, and Ed grasped it. “Ezra.”

“I know.”

***

The day passed uneventfully. Ed found he wasn’t fond of the food served in the cafeteria; it reminded him too much of the standardized meal sets found in the military outposts back home. Bland and questionable. But he survived without suffering too much embarrassment, aside from the stern reprimandation of the temple-massaging Mr. Lund when the boys returned from their trip to the bathroom.

But that was in the past. Ezra led Ed to his home, which wasn’t too far from the school.

“It’s not too far of a walk, but the school prefers students take the bus or have a guardian drive them,” Ezra said.

The sidewalk was lined with trees, and shadows rippled over the gray surface. Ed tried to focus on Ezra’s commentary, but he often found it too complicated and unfamiliar.

“Where’d you go to school before transferring here?” Ezra asked.

“I wasn’t in school,” Ed said absently. “I enlisted as a military dog as soon as I could.”

When silence followed his comment, Ed jerked his head to face Ezra whose face had gone pale.

“I’m sorry I asked,” Ezra said. “I didn’t realize your military back home used children as soldiers.”

Through gritted teeth, Ed said, “I’m not a child.” He couldn’t yet force himself to combat the sentiments about his country; there were more important matters to address.

“Aren’t you, like, 12?”

“I am _15_.”

Something seemed to catch in Ezra’s throat as he doubled over, wheezing. Ed couldn’t tell if the boy was choking or laughing, and for some reason, that made him angrier.

“Sorry,” Ezra finally managed to say. “It’s just you’re so short, I thought you might have skipped a few grades.”

When Ed’s vision turned red, he forced his eyes closed and stood still, clenching and unclenching his fist rhythmically. It would not benefit him to lose his temper, he told himself. If Mustang found out about how Ed jeopardized the mission because of a comment about his height, the colonel would never let it go.

After calming himself down, Ed released the tension and faced Ezra. “I chose the military because of some extenuating circumstances. It was the best option at the time. They had information I needed, and the only way to access it was by joining their ranks.”

“Ah, I see,” Ezra said. The fear in his eyes was mostly undetectable. “Sorry if I offended you.”

Ed waved it off. “You aren’t the first one,” he said. He was beginning to grow sick of picturing the colonel’s face. “That’s enough of that. Where’s your house? I’m starving.”

Ezra pointed past the next intersection. “We’re getting close. I’ll have my grandma make a snack.”

When they arrived at the front yard, Ed was taken aback by how familiar the home looked. It certainly seemed more modern, but the general structure and outer appearance reminded him faintly of his own home, now surrendered to ashes.

Ezra said nothing, though it was obvious he noticed Ed’s change in demeanor.

Inside, Ezra’s grandmother was waiting for him. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and glanced over her shoulder toward the front of the house when she heard the door.

“Welcome home, Ezra,” she called. Though strained, her voice was pleasant and warm to Ed.

Ezra led Ed through the house until they reached the kitchen.

“What are you making, grandma?”

“Maybe an apple pie.” From beneath the dish towel, she pulled an apple, skin bright red and unblemished. As she finished drying her hands, she turned to face him with a smile. When she spotted Ed behind her grandson, her smile faltered. “Oh, you brought a friend… who has an interesting sense of fashion.” She eyed the red cloak and curled her lips when her gaze met Ed’s.

Ed bowed his head, through his eyes lingered on the apple. “Good afternoon, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

She waved a hand dismissively, setting the apple on the counter next to a knife. “Please, lift your head. Ezra, why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a guest today?” Her tone had shifted, her voice lower.

“I only met him today,” Ezra answered. “I didn’t think it’d be an issue. Besides, he…” Lips parted, Ezra turned to Ed. The words refused to emerge. Ed knew the feeling. He nodded to Ezra before stepping forward.

Reaching for the glove on his right hand, Ed said, “I saw what Ezra can do. At least, to some extent.” Ezra’s grandmother paled, though her expression didn’t budge. “It’s not really a big deal because, well—”

He cut himself off. Multitasking was made more difficult by improvising. Ed removed his glove in a fluid motion, clapped his hands, then swept the knife from the counter. A flash of blue emitted from his hands, and when it died down, the knife had thinned and curved, forming the shape of a hollow metal apple. Ed tossed it in the arm and caught it so the metal of the fruit echoed against his hand.

Shrugging, Ed prepared to conclude his piece, but the old woman seized the metal apple and caught Ezra’s hand, dragging him to the other side of the kitchen. Her eyes were wild. Ed held his tongue.

With a tone which rivalled the sharpness of her features, the woman said, “You’re a State Alchemist, aren’t you?” To Ezra, she hissed, “You brought a _State Alchemist_ home with you.”

But Ezra appeared doubly frightened, in part by Ed’s performance and in part by his grandmother’s reaction. His shoulders shook, but he didn’t fight his grandmother’s hold.

Fingers splayed before his face in a sign of peace, Ed approached the two of them. “I don’t know why you’re reacting like that, but I’ve got a question to ask.” Ezra managed to slip his shoulder from under his grandmother’s arm and stepped to the side, avoiding the site of confrontation. “Do you know anything about a thing called a philosopher’s stone?”

There was venom in her eyes. Ed saw it clearly. It almost masked the fear and weariness beneath it, but he could tell she’d been hiding something for far too long. When the woman leaned against the wall behind her and sank to the floor, Ed followed her, crouching before her deflated form.

She grasped Ed’s left hand, and he felt the tremors she fought to subdue. “It’s not much of a story, but I’ll tell you,” she said.

Ed gripped her hand back. “I’ll listen,” he said. Ezra moved closer and knelt on the floor beside them. He could only think how grateful he was that his father wouldn’t be home until later in the evening.

“I used to live in Amestris,” the woman confessed. “I fled the country when I learned what they’d done to me. Me and countless others. An imposed hereditary condition.” She paused to steady her breathing. “I’d grown up in a lab. Many of the orphans did. For centuries, people like me have been subjected to experimentation because we are the kind who no one misses.”

Ed imagined the inside of Laboratory 5, floors washed with blood, children chained to steel beds. He couldn’t shake the image and swallowed against the growing lump in his throat.

The woman’s fingers trembled, and it was Ezra who placed his hand atop hers so that his palm covered her knuckles and his fingertips brushed Ed’s hand. The two boys exchanged a faint smile before returning their focus to the old woman.

“To make it brief,” she continued, “they injected us with a diluted red serum. Some of us died immediately, frothing and spitting up blood. Others lasted longer, eventually collapsing in on themselves. The lucky few of us survived. They told us this is how it’s always been, that the survival rate never improves, but that we should feel blessed. Our bodies were now vessels of God.”

Ed couldn’t mask his horror. “You don’t mean… They put... “

“Philosopher’s stones,” she confirmed. She tapped the veins of her throat with her free hand. “It doesn’t end with me. It’s what killed Ezra’s mother. But he survived. He inherited a gift.”

Though he wanted to focus on the woman’s story, Ed looked to Ezra whose breathing had grown shallow. Ed knew he didn’t understand. The world his grandmother spoke of was alien and impossible, but it still affected him, such was the power of it all.

“The power is limited,” she said. “We can only use it for certain things. In that way, I suppose my kin are a flawed batch. We produce food out of nothing, and that is our curse.”

Ed released the woman’s hand and shifted backward, releasing the strain from his knees. “Well, I kind of figured it was something like that,” he said. “It’s always just out of reach?”

“What is?” Ezra asked. His question struck Ed sideways. He hadn’t thought the boy could recover so quickly.

“Nothing,” Ed said, rising. He stretched out his shoulders before offering his hands to Ezra and his grandmother. “I’ve still got a long adventure ahead of me, food boy. But it seems like you aren’t at fault, and you aren’t dangerous. Neither of you are capable of much, so I won’t have to report you to my superior.” The word tasted sour on Ed’s tongue, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. “So you can rest easy,” he said, speaking over his thoughts. “You’re safe.”

After she’d calmed down, Ezra’s grandmother crafted an apple pie from scratch, complete nothingness. Ed scarfed down a few slices, but still found himself longing for Gracia’s pie. The tastes were completely different; perhaps the use of forbidden, god-defying alchemy made for a secret seasoning Ed couldn’t quite describe. He figured he’d jot it down when he got a chance and bring Al to try it, once he got his body back.

Ezra showed Ed around the house, and they wound up in Ezra’s bedroom. Without asking permission, Ed fell backwards onto Ezra’s bed, hands propped behind his head, eyes closed.

“Hey,” Ezra said firmly. Ed cracked one eye open. “I know you just swore not to get us all killed, but you should still be polite in someone else’s home.”

Sitting up and turning so his legs dangled off the side of the bed, Ed scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, you’re right. My bad,” he said. Ed eyed the messy comforter, the clothes spread on the floor and across the back of a charm. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a room this lived in.”

“That’s a weird thing to say,” Ezra said, claiming the spot beside Ed. They didn’t make eye contact when their pinkies brushed.

“I burned my house down when I joined the military. My younger brother came with me.”

“I’m sorry you don’t have a home to go back to,” Ezra said without thinking. The words stung.

“Our lives are very different, Ezra.”

“But,” Ezra interrupted, “you can always come back here. You and your brother.”

Ed sighed but intertwined his fingers with Ezra’s. “My brother is currently a suit of armor. Don’t look so shocked.” Ezra shut his mouth and lowered his eyebrows. “But thanks.”

Ezra rested his head on Ed’s shoulder. “You’ll always be welcome here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Endings... are difficult.
> 
> Y'all... please realize this is a joke that I managed to write seriously. Though the characters are... very OOC. BUT I had fun writing this, and that is what truly matters... in the end.


End file.
